"Who's there?" Jamie's voice cut through the night, his gaze fixed on the city as he sipped his wine in contemplation.
"Anastasia," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jamie's jaw clenched as he rose from his seat and approached the door. He flung it open, his piercing stare locking onto hers. "You shouldn't be out alone this late. It's 3 am."
Anastasia forced a smile, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. "I needed to grab my diary and a few things."
Jamie's expression remained stoic as he nodded curtly. He turned back to his mini table, his eyes fixed on the floor-to-ceiling window. He picked up his cigarette and lit it, the flame casting a warm glow on his features.
Anastasia's breath caught in her throat, surprise etched on her face. She hadn't expected Jamie to be a smoker.
Jamie drew a long puff from his cigarette and relaxed into his seat. "What changed your mind?" he questioned.
"You need me for a while. I want everything to end quickly," Anastasia made use of the words she had repeated mentally.
Jamie turned to her sharply. His piercing eyes swallowed her. Anastasia found it hard to breathe, looking into his eyes.
He turned back to his view after what seemed like hours for Anastasia.
Jamie dragged another puff. Letting it out, he gulped down a mouthful of wine. "You can still work with me if you want."
Anastasia's expression contorted in distaste as she watched Jamie smoke. She had never envisioned sharing a life with a smoker, let alone marrying one.
With a heavy sigh, she dropped her camera bag onto the sleek black couch situated at the foot of the bed, its leather upholstery gleaming in the dim light.
Jamie's bedroom exuded a sense of power and sophistication, reflecting his personality. The walls were painted a deep, rich grey, and the floor was covered in dark marble.
The bed, a massive king-size affair, was dressed in crisp white linens and adorned with a few strategically placed pillows in a bold, geometric pattern. A floor-to-ceiling window dominated one wall, offering a stunning view of the city skyline.
A sleek, minimalist nightstand and a sturdy, masculine dresser in a dark wood tone complemented the bed. The room was dimly lit, with only a few strategically placed lamps casting a warm glow.
The air was thick with the scent of leather and a hint of smoke, a testament to Jamie's smoking habit. The overall atmosphere was one of refined masculinity, a space where a powerful man like Jamie could retreat to recharge.
"What_"
Jamie interrupted her, his voice firm but gentle. "You can have the bed. I won't share a space with you until you're comfortable."
Anastasia's hand drifted through her hair, her heart softening at his words. "Where will you sleep?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jamie turned to face her, a fleeting smile ghosting his lips. "This is my house. I can sleep anywhere."
Anastasia's smile faltered as she climbed onto the bed, her eyes fixed on the pillow. But as she buried her face in its softness, her expression twisted in anguish.
Hate and fear warred within her, her mind racing with ways to uncover Jamie's secrets. She fixed her gaze on the vanity table, her throat constricting with fear. The truth was, she feared and hated Jamie, and the possibility that he was connected to her father's death terrified her.
Anastasia had long admired Jamie's clothing line, captivated by his grace and authenticity in the public eye. She reluctantly admitted to herself that he had become a role model, and working with him was a dream come true. But that was until two days ago when her world was shattered. The revelation that he smoked was a disappointment, but it was nothing compared to the devastating truth: Jamie had killed her father.
As she grappled with this unbearable knowledge, her mind became consumed by hatred and anger. Rational thought escaped her, replaced by a burning desire for justice. Jamie's gentle demeanour and sincerity now seemed like a cruel facade.
As Jamie stood up and walked towards the door, Anastasia's gaze followed him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of pain and resentment. He left the room without a backward glance, leaving her to stew in her turbulent emotions.
...
Anastasia woke with a start, her heart racing as she felt a finger tracing her face. She opened her eyes to find striking blue eyes and a captivating smile inches from hers.
But as she gazed into those eyes, her mind recoiled in shock. This wasn't Jamie MacQuoid's eyes. This was someone different. She pushed away from him, clutching the duvet to her chest.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice firm but wary.
The man's smile faltered for a moment before he repeated the question, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Who are you?"
Anastasia's hesitation was brief. "Anastasia Gray."
The man laughed again. His laughter was like a gentle breeze, but it sent a shiver down her spine. "Gray? Like my brother's eyes?" he joked, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
Anastasia's face twisted in distaste. "Not like your brother's eyes. Gray, like my father's name." She watched his expression closely, hoping for a glimmer of recognition, but his playful demeanor remained unchanged.
"Robb," he introduced himself, his hand extended in greeting. "Robb MacQuoid, Jamie's younger brother."
Anastasia's smile was guarded, but Robb's innocent gaze put her at ease. She accepted his handshake, and he raised her palm to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.
As he kissed the back of her palm, a soft blush spread across her cheeks. She drew her hand back, her heart racing with a mix of emotions.
Robb's laughter was infectious, but Anastasia's exhaustion and wariness soon took over. "I'm his wife," she said, her voice flat.
Robb's eyes widened, his face paling in an instant. "His wife?" he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. He let go of her palm.
Anastasia nodded curtly. "For a short while."
Robb's smile returned, his expression morphing into a mischievous grin. "Well, in that case, can I still make a move on you?"